The Tragedy of Anthor Phaedrian
by TigressLily
Summary: Please read...i don't know why i wrote this, but please. PG-13 for ideas, not profanity or anything else. just r/r. it's important


The Tragedy of Anthor Phaedrian  
  
The moon was full that night, casting beams across the deserted common room. Well, not entirely deserted. The ugly, burly cat Crookshanks was creeping around in the shadows, and Anthor Phaedrian, dreary eyed and weak from lack of sleep, was still up studying.  
  
One could have said he took after Hermione Granger, if they had been inclined to comment at all about him. He had piled on course after course, taking every class offered to him with the exception of muggle studies. He was muggle born. He didn't feel the need to study them, not when twelve years of English schooling had done quite nicely.  
  
You wouldn't have thought Anthor was something of a social outcast from looking at him. Tall, dark, and muscualar; he had replaced Wood as the Gryffindor keeper this year and was doing an excellent job. He did well in all his classes; teachers practically adored him, even Snape gave him rare praise ever once and awhile.  
  
Crookshanks left up onto the couch beside him, giving a little snort as she read his homework. With the expression only a cat can make, she asked him silently 'Divination?' then, with a small snort and a flash of her tail, she was gone.  
  
One of the suits of armor was standing by the door; Peeves had dropped water bombs on it a week ago, and, horrified at the potential of rust, the suit had begged to be allowed in the Gryffindor common room. Well, no one can refuse a begging suit, so he was left to 'guard' the door. It was an old and rusty thing, scratched and bruised from long-forgotton conquests. But just then, in the moonlight, the suit looked pure and clean, ready to go charge down the students who crept around the hallways during the forbidden times of night. Anthor gave half a smile looking at it, wishing people would see him in a different light...  
  
The moonbeams faded, and sunlight gently took their place, revealing Anthor, collapsed overhis books, for all the Gryffindors to see as they walked down to the Hallfor breakfast. No one paidhim much head, though; this had happened before and was likely to happen again. Ginny Weasly, who often tried as best she could to befriend him, nudged him awake and quietly informed him that it was breakfast. Anthor wasn't entirely blameless in his lack of friends; he had been scorned for so long in Muggle communities that here, in Hogwarts, when he finally got his wish he no longer trusted himself to accept it. People really did try and befriend him, in the beginning, but his classmates had been four years at Hogwarts and all but given up.  
  
Most people had already left the common room by the time Anthor, groggy eyed and sleepy, began to make his first attempts at standing. But he was wobbily and slightly disoriented, and would have fallen had not someone caught him from behind and pulled him upright again.  
  
"Whoa, maybe you should see the nurse, Anthor." Anthor turned, slowly, to face the green eyes and lightning scar of Harry Potter, who gave him a quick smile. "We need our keeper awake for the Slytherin match this weekend!"  
  
Anthor watched Harry and his two friends, Ron Weasly and Hermione Granger, walk out together, and could not quite suppress a surge of jealousy. He wished he had friends that close; that he was friends with Harry Potter...  
  
Harry had always seemed to Anthor to be the ideal person living the ideal life of friends, love, and adventure. And Anthor envied him. His friends were well respected, Harry himself was regarded as a savoir to the school, and, despite his recent break up with Cho, which Harry had taken rather harshly, it seemed everyone was in love with Harry.  
  
Including Anthor.  
  
Over and over he asked himmself, Why would Harry get so upset over Cho when he could have me?  
  
And yet it seemed Harry regarded Anthor as just what he called him earlier; the Gryffindor keeper.  
  
Anthor gathered his books and started trudging up the long stairs to Professor Trewalney's room. He didn't quite know what time it was, but he figured breakfast wqas probably already over. His guess proved correct; several of his classmates were already gathered beneath the trapdoor when he got there.  
  
"Hey, Anthor!" Ginny never would give up. "The Divination homework took me so long last night. No wonder you stayed up all night doing it."  
  
Anthor just gave her a perculiar look. Ginny took the hint, and rejoined her friends, looking slightly miffed.  
  
"Aww, my students." The student's got the impression that Professor Trewalney was trying to make her voice sound mystical, but instead it came out cracked and hoarse. "The fates have informed me that I am, erm, will be sick, and, although I wish to share my divinity in all matters else, this much I would rather not pass on to you. Therefore, the fates have decreed you may return to your common room for the remainder of this classtime, but that you must write a paper on the dangers of planet alliance." With one last cough, the trapdoor shut again. The fourth year's looked at eachother, not believing there good luck.   
  
"...a whole free period..."  
  
"...'the fates have informed her' yeah right..."  
  
"...it's such a nice fall day, let's go outside..."  
  
Anthor paid no heed to the mumblings of his classmates, and trod once more the long path back to the common room. Ginny, having recovered from his earlier slight, confrontedhim once more.  
  
"Anthor, I've tried hinting, begging, even discreetly mentioning, and you still have no idea!" Ginny stormed. "Are you going to ask me out or not?"  
  
Anthor was taken by utter astonishment. His mouth dropped open, and for several moments, he couldn't speak a word.  
  
"I...um...like... A DATE? But...your a girl..." Anthor covere his mouth with his hands. He hadn't meant for the last part, the secret he had kept for four years, to slip out. But Ginny, in her slowness, gave him a momentary glimmer of home that she wouldn't  
figure out what Anthor had just said.  
  
"Yes of course I'm a girl!" Ginny exclaimed irritably. "And you're a ..." She broke off, finally realizing what Anthor had meant. "A guy," she said softly. "Who likes other guys." She gave a weak smile. "I come here thinking of you as a boyfriend, and it turns out your competition." Anthor couldn't help but smile at what Ginny didn't know; it was common knowledge Ginny had a crush on Harry.  
  
"Don't tell anyone," Anther begged, not really thinking she would agree. "I can't...I won't..."  
  
"Of course I won't tell anyone, if you don't want me to." Ginny frowned. "It'syour decision and all...but people would understand, if you'd let them."  
  
"Sure," Anthor muttered bitterly, but not loud enough for Ginny to hear. He remebered all to well how the boys, and even girls, at his muggle school had treated him. He wasn't about to take that chance again.  
  
Ginny was not always the fastest learner, or the first to ppick up on a hint. But she was compassionate, and despite the emotional barriars Anthor had erected around himself she knew what he needed to here.  
  
"People say your smart," she told him, with a harsh edge to her voice. "But if your so smart, why can't you see past your bitterness? Hogwarts...and it's students...have accepted werewolves, muggle-born, even giants. What makes you think they won't accept you? You don't see me suddenly hating you, running off to tell everyone I know, do you?"  
  
Anthor looked ather suprised. "You don't know what it's like, liking someone and knowing they'll never like you," he defended, not wanting his ideals of four years, no matter how incorrect, crushed with one sweep."  
  
"Oh, really?" Ginny was scowling now. "Hmmm, want to compare? Let me think...Cedric Diggory. To begin with, he never liked me. And then he died, so he never will. Harry Potter, to whom I am his best friends little sister. And...you, who I just found out would never like me unless I were male. Do you really think people are that judgemental?"  
  
Anthor didn't speak. What Ginny said made sense...too much sense. Was it possible that he had been the judgemental one, the one who judged that others would judge him?  
  
But Ginny wasn't done. "People have tried to be your friend, just for who you are. Why won't you let them?"  
  
In contrast to the moonlight the had made the suit of armor gleam in perfection the night before, the harsh sun now shone upon it, revealing every crack, every fault. And Anthor understood, that he had always thought he was the one in the right, that everyone else was wrong, only to e shone now, by Ginny, that he had become what he hated most in people, which now existed only in him.  
  
"Think about it." That was all Ginny said, before leaving Anthor to do just that.  
  
Potions were next, and the bell for next period jerked Anthor back to reality. What Ginny said was true...in theory. But how could he bring himself to tell anyone, to let down the walls he had built so long ago?  
  
Unlike his fellow Gryffindor's, Anthor did not dread potions. During his first year   
Snape had laid every imaginable test upon him, and Anthor had passed each without coming off as a know-it-all,and Snape had at last relented, and brought himself to respect Anthor. Snape, who would see the world end before favouring anyone but a Slytherin, was still harsh on Anthor without being cruel; harsh inthe way of pushing him to his fullest potential in the subject Snape so dearly loved for all his attempts at Dart Arts.  
  
But today, Anthor's mind was elsewhere, and Snape did not take kindly to this. "Mr. Pheadrian," he hissed, breath visibly icy even in the cold dungeon air. "Your Toe Elixer is supposed to be black, not pink. Or were you thinking to use it to paint your toenails?"  
  
Anthor cringed, not at Snape's rebuke but at the fact that he had needed one. "I don't think pink quite matches my eyes, Professor." Several Ravenclaws, who rarely shared a class with the Gryffindors, gasped that any student, especially a Gryffindor, would dare make a joke to Snape. But Snape only smiled (to the untrained eye, grimanced) and moved on to critize Colin's potion.  
  
Ginny, who had, slightly obtursively, delegated herself as Anthor's partner, and kept flashing reassuring smiles at him. Anthor wished she would shop, beginning to think that scorn and ridicule would be better than this. So he ignored her, but, Ginny being Ginny, she kept on grinning.  
  
"You said," he whispered furiously, adding griffon's feathers to the toe elixer, "that people...including you...would judge me for myself. But aren't you being overly nice nice to me because..." he couldn't bring himself to finish.  
  
Ginny scowled. "Fine, maybe I'm laying it on a bit thick. Do you really want to hear what I actually want to say?  
  
Anthor saw no way to back himself out of this. "Sure," he challenged.  
  
"YOU"RE BEING AN IDIOT! TELL PEOPLE!" Ginny shouted, voice echoing throughout the dungeon. Snape turned around, face red.   
  
"Ms. Weasly," he said, voice low and dangerous. "Perhaps you would care to explain what that little...outburst was about."  
  
Ginny stared back, with defiance that would have made her brother proud. "Anthor has something to say." Snape looked slighty taken aback, and turned to face Anthor, arms folded. With a wry smile, Anthor realized Ginny had broken no promise; he had extracted only the promise that she wouldn't tell anyone.  
  
The entire class was watching him now. "Ummm, yeah." Anthor tugged at the collar of his robe nervously. "What Ginny wants me to say...is, well... if you're wondering why I never go out with girls," he said in a rush, "it's because, well, they're, um, female." This having been said, he buried his head in his hands.   
  
There were a few moments of silence. And then, though arms served as a muffler, Anthor heard... Clapping? He looked up, to see Ginny smiling knowingly. Snape laid a reassuring, almost comforting hand on his should. And Anthor felt amazingly eliaviated.  
  
Enough to make a fatal error.  
  
Word had spread quickly through school. By night, everybody knew, and, despite a couple Slytherins, nothing bad was to be said.  
  
Anthor had Quidditch practice after dinner. Walking through the shadowson the way up to the field, Anthor felt a tightning in his heart. Did Harry know? Did Harry care? Was it possible...did he dream...  
  
The whole team was already gathered. The team had changed drastically over the past two years; only the Weasly brother's, Angelina, in her rookie year as captain, and Harry remained. They grinned as he walked up. Anthor didn't dare look at Harry.  
  
Angelina seemed to have caught the fever that had driven her predessor, Oliver Wood, to Quidditch madness; the team practiced long after dark. And Anthor had played well; letting very few goals. So, by the end of practice, Anthor had begun to sum up a feeble amount of courage... to go talk to the infamous Harry Potter.  
  
But cleaning his broom took longer than he had expected, and Harry had started up to the castle by the time Anthor had finished.  
  
"Harry!" he croaked, but no one heard but himself. Or that was what he had thought, until Harry turned, and opened his arms...and Cho ran into them.  
  
"Looks like they're back together," George commented next to Anthor. But Anthor didn't hear. He fled back to the castle, past the knowing, sympatheti smiles of students, past the suit of armor, looking eerie as the firelight danced across it, turning it a blood red. Anthor could no longer take it, whethe becuase of his own faults or others.  
  
The next morning in the Breakfast Hall, Dumdledore stood up and called for attention, with none of his usual cheerfulness.  
  
"I am going to tell you a story, and I want you to think about it," he began, fixing his somber gaze on each student in turn. "It's about a boy who thought he was different from those around him, when, if he had only asked, would had found the simple truth; we are all unique. All small mistake, but one that grows, like a seed into a tree.  
  
"A story," Dumbledore continued, "about this same boy, who fell subject to the prejudice's around him, the prejudice's held by few but listened to by many. We hear them, we may disregard them, but rarely do we bother to stomp them down. And like weeds they grow, small but numerous, clinging, preying on the youthful life of the tree.  
  
"A story where a boy, or a tree, gradually eaten alive by the weeds, a treewhich had become, by internal force and external circumstance, so rooted within itself that it couldn't move to ask for help.  
  
"Now think of this boy, this mind, torn apart by the weedsthat built upon a corner of darkness in his soul. A mind and heart, pounded down by society, unable to feel or love, missing out on the small joys that make life worth living.  
  
"Anthor Phaedrian is dead, boys and girls," Dumdledore said. "He killed himself yesterday afternoon." 


End file.
